


He Shoots, He Scores

by tisfan



Series: Tony Stark Bingo [12]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blind Date, Disabled Character, Flirting, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 05:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15454269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Nat sets Tony up on a blind date. Dark hair, broody. Leather jacket and boots. Hot.Dark hair, head bowed, moved to the bar like he was parting the Red fucking Sea, check. Leather jacket and boots. Check. Hot. Check, write the fucking check.





	He Shoots, He Scores

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DreamcatchersDaughter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamcatchersDaughter/gifts).



> K1 square for Tony Stark Bingo - image, Tony Stark saying Razzle-dazzle-y

Tony checked his watch and tapped his foot some more. Swear to god, he was gonna give this asshole another five minutes and then he was out the damn door. He only agreed to the blind date because Nat was getting on his case regularly, and he thought if he did one date, maybe she’d leave him alone.

Probably not, Tony considered. Variable reward system. Her nagging him had gotten him to agree to one date after six weeks. Next time, she’d nag for eight weeks.

 _Ug_.

The door opened again and Tony’s gaze went to the newcomer, checking him against the description he’d long since memorized.

Dark hair, broody. Leather jacket and boots. Hot.

Dark hair, head bowed, moved to the bar like he was parting the Red fucking Sea, check.

Leather jacket and boots. Check.

Hot. Check, write the fucking check.

 _Smoking_ hot.

The guy went straight to the bar and ordered a double whiskey and a beer chaser. He was halfway through the beer when Tony raised his chin to the bartender and signaled. _That guy, those drinks, on me._ It was a complicated series of hand gestures, but Tony was a good tipper and the bartender knew it. So he’d taken pains to get to know Tony. Either that, or Tony was going to end up footing the bar tab for the entire night.

Which might have been okay, too.

The bartender leaned close to Walks in Beauty (and wow, he was so hot that Tony was doing the mental Byron, so bad, he was sunk already… Maybe he should have taken Nat up on a date earlier, because she shoots, she scores, Raven Tresses was on his way over.)

“Shove over,” the guy said.

“Huh?”

“Need t’ put my arm up,” the guy said. “M’ shoulder’s killin’ me and if I sit on th’ other side with my arm up, everyone’s gonna stare.”

Tony was about to inquire further when his gaze fell on the man’s sleeve. Which was empty. Huh. Nat hadn’t mentioned that, and then Tony had to wonder if she’d done it on purpose because she didn’t want Tony to form expectations, or because she thought Tony wouldn’t want to date someone who was missing a limb.

“Sure, sure,” Tony said, and he slid over in the booth. The guy practically fell in the seat next to him and groaned as he stretched out the stump; from the dent in his sleeve, it looked like his arm ended about two inches over his elbow.

“I got a prosthetic,” the guy said, “but it’s fuckin’ heavy and I hate wearin’ it. Thanks for the drink, hot shot.”

“You want another beer? Or cheese fries or something? Honestly, the whole buying someone a drink is old hat. I’m trying to expand my repertoire,” Tony said.

“Been a while since anyone even bought me a beer,” the guy said.

“Well, that’s just short sighted,” Tony said. He waved over one of the waitresses. “Ang, bring -- cheese fries okay? Yeah, that, and another beer, and a scotch? Thanks, love.”

“Sure thing, Tony,” she said, and bounced off.

“Yeah, okay, you’re Tony Stark,” the guy said. “Not really where I’d expect to find you. Not… razzle-dazzley enough for you.”

Tony was almost affronted. “Razzle-dazzley?”

“You know, matching dancing girls and glitter bombs and flying cars,” the guy said. “That seems more your speed than pickin’ up a sad sack who’s down an arm an’ a job.”

Tony made a noise of sympathy. “Rough day, huh? Well, you know who I am, what’s your name?”

“Bucky Barnes,” he said. “An’ yeah, it’s been for shit today.”

Bucky? Bucky, really? Well, that would explain why Nat hadn’t given him a name. Tony wasn’t so shallow to turn down a date with a guy with one arm, but he might well have turned down a date with a grown man who went by the name _Bucky_. Of course, all she would have had to do was show him a damn picture…

Angie came back with booze and fries; she truly was an angel. Bucky scooped up a handful of fries, dredged them through the ranch dressing, and stuffed them in his mouth, chasing it with a hefty swallow of beer.

“Tell me about your crappy day,” Tony invited.

“You serious?” Bucky stared at him for a moment, then taking something in Tony’s expression as permission, went into it.

They drank beer and went through a truly epic number of fry baskets. Bucky talked about getting laid off from Hammer Industries, and Tony told ridiculous stories about his interns at SI. Bucky complained about the way his prosthetic fit, and the muscle pain that he had in his shoulder all the time from wearing it. Tony suggested they go get a couples massage as a later date. Bucky talked about his roommate, who was a starving artist who’d just actually managed to get a booth at a local festival and sold a few pieces, which meant they weren’t going to starve to death before Bucky’s unemployment came in.

“What did you do for Hammer, anyway?”

“Tech support. Even a one armed guy can answer the phone,” Bucky said. “I misunderstood th’ purpose of their tech support, though. We have-- _had_. Had a minimum of calls transferred to sales. I thought I was s’posed to help people fix their damn stuff.”

Tony made another mental note to see if he could get a recruiter to call -- if Tony offered the job directly, Bucky would probably turn it down, but a third party recruiter could probably get Bucky to at least go in for an interview. Poaching off Hammer was its own reward.

Tony talked about some recent developments in his research departments, which included printable organs.

“Y’ should make patterns for print ups of prosthetics,” Bucky suggested. “The one the VA cleared me for weighs a ton and it’s not very adjustable.”

“That’s a… that’s a damn good idea,” Tony said.

“Enlightened self-interest,” Bucky said, waving his stump awkwardly.

They moved on to music and movies, with a vast venn diagram of matching preferences when a short guy with truly ridiculous sideburns stomped up to the table. “You Tony?”

Tony blinked and leaned back to look at who was accosting them. Dark hair. Broody. Leather jacket and boots.

He glanced at Bucky, back at the guy who might have _actually_ been his blind date. He squeezed Bucky’s knee under the table.

“No,” Tony said.

After the guy stormed off, muttering about only being two hours late, and what did people expect these days, Bucky turned to Tony. “What was that about?”

Tony ran his tongue over his teeth. “I… I’m so sorry,” he said. “I thought you were the guy my friend set me up with. But… you’re not, are you?”

“No, I’m just the guy you’ve been buying drinks for all night?”

“Yeah, I think that was her pick,” Tony said, and he squeezed Bucky’s knee again. “You’re my pick. He shoots, he scores! Come on, let’s blow this place before he comes back.” Tony raised a finger for the tab.

“I ain’t givin’ up th’ best date I had in ages to someone who can’t be bothered t’ show up on time.”

“Best date, huh?”

“Well, so far,” Bucky said. “I expect more razzle-dazzle next time.”

Tony was grinning. “You want it, Buckaroo, you got it.”


End file.
